Doses of Quiet and Doses of Noise
by Aleithria
Summary: In this, I tie up all the threads from the ending of Season 1, and delve into Toby's past, Maya's past, and what it all means for Toby's future.
1. Prologue

Hello everyone!

So this is my first attempt at a Listener fic, and I have had this plot bunny bouncing around in my head for a while, but I think I was kind of waiting to see how the series ended before taking a crack at it. After seeing the ending... I dunno. I have trouble saying too much bad against the series, but I really feel like it had a lot of wasted potential, and so here is my attempt to give us all a satisfying conclusion to the threads they left dangling at the end of season 1. This story will attempt to rectify all the questions about Toby's mother, her past, Toby's past, the threat that was looming over them, and even things like the disappearance of Ray and Frank in the following seasons. I hope you all enjoy!

There are a few things that I need to decide as I write more on this, since I've been struggling with exactly how to write the story... like... where to put all of the focus since there is so much information to be passed on to y'all, and I don't want to turn this all into a massive monologue telling the story. It is possible that this will be a two-part thing, but we will have to see where the story takes us.

So... for all of us who were wondering what the hell happened to the season 1 storyline...

HERE WE GO!

* * *

"He's way more excited than I would have thought," mused Michelle with a grin as she ducked out of the car and twirled her keys between her fingers. "You should have seen his face. Klein never struck me as the family type."

Toby shut the passenger side door and pulled his coat tighter around his thin frame. "Oh I saw him yesterday," he said with a smirk. "You'd have thought someone told him he was going to be an uncle." He looked around the rail yard, trying to spot the reason for their visit between the massive shipping containers. "I think he's living vicariously through you and Adam these days. It's not healthy," he chuckled.

Michelle laughed along. "He even wants me to take a few extra weeks off before my maternity leave starts. And he's already asked when the baby shower is." She motioned to her stomach. "I'm not even showing yet."

Toby slung the chain that held his badge over his head and it dropped to rest against his chest. "Well, you should take him up on that," he said, waiting until she rounded the car to walk next to him as they headed into the maze of shipping containers. "Rest up. Both you and Adam. I've never experienced it myself, but from what I understand, raising a newborn doesn't really include a lot of sleep."

Michelle gave him a sideways glanced and a smile. "So I should go someplace where I can get a years worth of sleep in a week or two?"

"A year is probably safer." The telepath shrugged, looking down an aisle between two containers. Michelle chuckled and shook her head. Toby spread his arms and smiled at her. "Why not? You haven't had a real vacation since I started at the IIB."

"I've had days off," argued the sergeant. "Besides, who will come with you to do interviews with such paranoid people?"

"Oh, Dev and I'll have fun," said Toby with a dismissive wave. "I'm only thinking- oop! There's our guy." He aimed a finger down one of the main walkways at a heavy-set and muscle-bound man. He shifted nervously in his boots and jumped when he spotted them. "He's looking particularly skittish today," Toby mused. He threw a hand in the air. "Hey! Marcus!" he called.

Toby's piercing blue gaze met Marcus' green for a split second before the large man spun on his heel and bolted away, vanishing behind the nearest shipping container.

The two stopped their approach and exchanged a look. Toby picked up his pace, breaking into a jog to peer around the edge of the container and Michelle's hand absently undoing the strap on her holster. Something in the air felt suddenly oppressive, and Michelle's body went into high-alert.

A powerful hand locked around the wrist that was on her holster and yanked it up and away, drawing a yelp from her throat. She was flung around and her back slammed into the nearest container. At the sound of his partner's cry, Toby whirled around, his hand on his gun. Michelle's breath caught in her throat. There was a point of pressure against her belly and she heard a gun cock. A large man with a crooked nose and a sneer on his lips was holding a gun on her future daughter.

"Don't move," he said evenly. She held her hands near her head and nodded slowly, keeping her mouth a thin line and refusing to flinch away from the man's intense brown gaze. He was a beast of a man, with great hulking shoulders and stubble along a thick square jaw. He looked to Toby, who had taken a few steps toward them and Michelle could see his eyes lose their focus; a tell-tale sign that he was scanning the man's mind. "Hands up, and don't move," he ordered and Toby obeyed, releasing his gun.

"Relax, man," said Toby, his voice dipping into a well-practiced calm. "We don't want anyone to get hurt here."

"What do you want?" demanded Michelle, forcing her voice to come out calm and collected.

They were both ignored. Her attacker did not take his eyes off Toby, but pursed his lips and whistled loud enough to make Michelle wince.

Two more men appeared from behind the shipping containers. Toby jumped a little, glancing quickly between them and then fixing his eyes once more on the man threatening his partner. One was lithe, with the bearing of a military man, holding a gun leveled at Toby's head. The other was thin and wiry with straw-colored hair. He carried a large duffel bag and hurried to stand behind the consultant. He wrenched his hands behind his back and Michelle could only assume he bound them there because when he moved to Toby's side, the telepath's arms didn't move. The stranger dug into the duffel and produced what looked like a syringe. Toby took a step away from him, but was reminded of his position with a gruff command from the gun-wielding man.

"Listen, you don't want to hurt us," Michelle suddenly assured the man at her front, whose eyes remained fixed on the three a few yards away. "We're with the IIB. I'm a cop."

"We're not going to hurt you," assured the wiry man with the duffel as he flicked the syringe and pushed the plunger a little until a small bit of liquid came out. He took a step toward Toby and the consultant stepped away again.

The military man on his other side pressed the barrel of the gun against his shoulder and growled at him. "On your knees."

Toby, scrunched his nose at the command, but had little choice but to obey. He glanced to the military man and then at the man in front of Michelle as though eliminating his options in his head. The man with the duffel crouched down to his level and placed his forearm under Toby's jaw, pushing his head to the side, and exposing his pale neck. "What... what are you doing?" the telepath stuttered, wobbling a little on his knees.

"Just relax," ordered the wiry man gently. He slid the needle into Toby's neck with what looked like practiced ease and pressed the plunger.

"What the hell are you doing?" Michelle demanded again, and once more, she was ignored. The reaction was almost immediate in the telepath. His head drooped a little and his eyes scrunched in what seemed to be pain. He shook his head feverishly and his entire body tensed up. After a few moments, he tipped to one side and the wiry man stuck the syringe in his mouth like a pencil. He grabbed Toby's head and shoulder, lowering him gently to the pavement where he lay still.

"Toby!" cried Michelle, silenced immediately after by the reapplication of pressure to her belly. Toby remained unmoving and silent on the ground.

The wiry man stuck the cap back on the syringe and shoved it into the duffel. He pressed two fingers to Toby's neck and checked his eyes before looking up and nodding to the military man. "It worked. We're good," he said. The military man shoved his gun back into its holster and rushed back behind the container he had appeared from, returning with what looked like a stretcher. The wiry man reached over Toby's body and unlocked what appeared to be handcuffs, releasing Toby's arms and allowing them to lay limply at his sides. The two men loaded Toby onto the stretcher and shuffled past Michelle and her captor. As they passed, the sergeant got a brief glimpse of her partner.

Sweat had broken out across his pale face and his jaw was slack. His eyes were half-open and glazed as though he were in some sort of trance. As the two vanished around a corner with the consultant, the man with the gun trained on her belly waved at someone to the side and a new man appeared in front of her. He was... different than the others. He was older with gray hair on either side of his face and a bald crown. His eyes were weary and sad and his body was pale and thin. If it wasn't for the professional way he held himself and the fierce intelligence in his eyes, Michelle might have taken him for a drug addict.

"Sorry," he whispered, pulling out a syringe of his own and flicking it a few times as the wiry man had. Michelle squirmed a little, but she dared not move too much as the hulking man grumbled at her. "We don't want you, and it won't hurt the baby," the older man promised, sliding the needle into her arm.

There was pressure suddenly on her shoulders, back, and head, having been lowered there with much more care than she would have expected. Blackness overtook her vision before their boots had even left her alone.

~ooOoo~

"I woke up a few hours later when Dev shook me awake," said Michelle, adjusting her position in the chair. "He had traced my phone when Toby and I didn't check in."

"And that was... 18 months ago now?" asked the redhead, scribbling in her notepad. Michelle nodded. "And that was the last time you or anyone else saw Special Consultant Logan?"

"Yeah," answered McClusky.

"His family never got a ransom call, or anything?" she continued, looking up at the blonde.

McClusky swallowed hard and the woman's face softened. "Uh, no. Toby doesn't really have any family, but his best friend and girlfriend never heard anything."

The woman nodded and scribbled in her notebook again. "And this... Marcus Dale. He was looked into by the previous investigation?"

Michelle nodded. "Yeah. He was someone that we always pegged as obsessively paranoid, but he was in a good position to spot all kinds of smuggling operations and did help us bust one or two, so despite how many empty claims he had of foul play, he was always taken seriously. Turns out that the last few times he called us in for an interview, he had been paid to do so. Someone offered him ten thousand dollars for each false call he made over a period of three weeks, four times total."

"Did they ever find out why someone would pay him that much for something like that?" asked the redhead, the look on her face communicating that she already knew the answer.

Michelle raised an eyebrow at the look on her face, but responded anyway. "The investigative team seemed to be of the opinion that they were using it to lull us into a false sense of security so we would be relaxed when we went to interview him and Toby would be easier to grab." The woman nodded and scribbled in her pad again. Michelle paused for a moment before speaking up. "No offense, but why are you asking me these questions instead of the investigative team? I wasn't allowed to investigate my partner's disappearance."

The redhead smiled at her over the rim of her thin glasses. "Sergent McClusky, you were a brilliant detective even before you became part of Klein's group, and then proceeded to retain the highest rate of case closure this department has ever seen. I figured you'd have some good insight into all this, whether you were on the team or not." Michelle gave a modest smile. "What about the four men that attacked you and Special Consultant Logan?" the woman asked, abruptly switching topics.

Michelle took a moment to answer, and when she did, it was distracted. "I gave the descriptions to a sketch artist, but I never really heard whether they had been identified or not." The redhead nodded and continued writing for a moment before Michelle leaned forward in her chair and leaned on her knees. "Miss Ballard..." the woman looked up from her notepad. "It's been a year and a half, and I've told this story so many times I've lost count. Has... are they re-opening the investigation? And if they are, why is Guns and Gangs involved?"

The woman stared at her for a long moment, her eyes locked with McClusky's as though trying to come to a decision. After a moment, she put down her pen and leaned forward to match the sergeant's posture. "I can't tell you much... obviously, this is an ongoing investigation and it involves an undercover agent. I don't want to get your hopes up... but we are re-opening the investigation because there is a possibility that Special Consultant Logan is alive."

Michelle's eyes widened and she fought the grin that threatened to curve her mouth, as though if she allowed herself any tiny amount of celebration, she would be setting herself up to be crushed in such a cold case. "Can... can you tell me why you think that?"

Anna considered the question for a moment and then sighed. "The only thing I can say is that we've heard chatter that there is someone being held under a code name, whose length of time as a prisoner and physical description matches Special Consultant Logan. We don't know for sure if it is really him, but if it is him... he is an IIB asset and we will do everything we can to find him and bring him home"

Michelle fought at the smile again. She had always held out hope that Toby was alive, though the average case like this would say he wasn't, and hadn't been for some time. Before she could stop herself, she asked, "Code name? What code name?" She wasn't entirely sure why she asked, and she was a little shocked when the woman answered.

"They call him the Listener."

* * *

Let me know what you guys think! Any theories on where this is going? Any thoughts? Wishes? Stuff of that nature? See you guys soon!


	2. A Very Nice Apartment

Hello everyone! I am so terribly sorry about the long wait!

To be honest, I have been wrestling with this story and it has been putting up more of a fight than usual. XD I have been hammering out some of the broad details of the later parts, and to be perfectly honest, it was probably a little premature for me to post the first chapter when I did. I didn't have it figured out enough. I have more figured out now, but there are a few connections I am still struggling with. I am taking a slightly Steven King approach to this one- just writing and letting the story shape itself.

Now this chapter is a little shorter than I intended, but to put the next section in would have made it reeeaaaally long, and I'm not 100% happy with the way the second part sits as of right now. I figured you guys have waited far longer than necessary and I would give you the first part.

SO I enjoy responding to the reviews I get as we go, just to recognize the reviews you guys write because they mean so much to me.

**Review Responses**

Nina - Why thank you. :) I thought the actual kidnapping would start it off with a bit of a bang. XD

Tammy - Yeah, I didn't want to get too far ahead of myself. I am a perfectionist when writing and very picky when it comes to fanfiction in particular, so this one might be slow going. But I have FAR from given up on this. My brain came up with all of the connections I needed to answer all of the questions left hanging at the end of season 1 and I am determined to tell you all the story. XD

DTS - Yeah. I came looking for them too, but it seems most people don't want to tackle the challenge of fishing all the missing characters out of plot holes and plugging the rest of them. But my brain managed to craft a cohesive narrative, so I'll try my best to put what is in my head onto the page. XD Ray, Frank, Clooney, Maya, and even Toby's brother play big roles in this. :)

Guest - SURE AM! 8D

nacimynom - I love theorizing! Of course, I'm going to be all cruel and not reveal my plots, but I love it when people are into the story enough to try and guess what is happening/ going to happen. As for the characters, most of that info is covered in the next chapter. :)

Labrina - Will not be a one-shot! :) Actually, from what I have written and the way I have this planned out, there will actually be a lot more of Toby in the chapters than I originally planned. I kind of wanted to maintain the mystery of what was happened, but as I wrote and planned and thought, it seemed like there was enough mystery in the way things were cut off at the end of season 1, and decided the best route would be to flummox everyone a little less and show you what you want to see, which is Toby during all of this madness.

the jester - Aww! Thank you! *blush* As a writer I am finding myself using those words so much. "It was good, but it could have been so much better." And that is what has spawned this story. I like the Listener. Even in the later seasons it kept that constant theme of this amazing but imperfect gift that they used like a tool in their investigative belt. I thought that was an interesting way to go about it. But at the same time, I found myself constantly longing for the amazing writing of the first season.

ChibiAyane - Am continuing. XD lol That's actually the direction I have settled one, showing a decent amount of both sides. The group moreso than Toby, but there will be a good amount of Tobyness in this whole thing. :)

Dayreader - Late, but updated! :D

Labrine - They haven't been too bad. To be honest it has calmed down quite a bit, and I've learned how to stretch and mess with the muscles to relax them when they start to throttle mah poor finger nerves. XD And I have decided on a relatively equal dose of both sides. I think there will probably be more writing on the investigative side, but there will be both. :) Plenty of Toby. XD

Catherine - I'M GLAD! This is what I was looking for too, but it didn't exist. So I had to write it. XD

Alright. That wraps that up. I don't own the Listener! Here we go!

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, the blindfold finally came off.

Vernon was no stranger to life on the wrong side of the law. An old faded scar along the curve of his face spoke to a nearly-forgotten knife-fight. His bones and dark skin were mottled with so many breaks and invisible imperfections, he could no longer recall where he got each one. It was not common that he was surprised or taken off-guard.

But this was one of those times.

He cast his dark eyes toward the ceiling, running them over the elaborate chandelier that hung in what appeared to be a fancy- if quite small- lobby. He stood before the doors of a closing elevator that then rattled its way back down to the parking garage. He could hear the SUV that had dropped them off screeching its way around a corner and fading. The tile beneath his feet was polished and resembled marble- well enough that he honestly couldn't tell if it was real or not. There were rugs of elaborate colors and designs beneath his feet and all down the hallways that stretched away from the lobby.

He made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle as the shorter man behind him moved to one of the small tables, and set to rummaging around in the large duffel over his shoulder. "You know, Rhett... when you said we were going to be bringing room service to a guest... I kind of thought that was a euphemism for working over a prisoner." He finally looked at his pale-skinned partner and gave a shrug. "But whatever. I mean... I make a pretty good cheese-bread." His eyes lit up in a way that he tried his best to hide, even though Rhett's gaze was still on the contents of his bag. "Are we bringing scones to Mij or something?"

Rhett finally raised his eyes to meet Vernon's- eyes that the dark-skinned man had always found uncomfortably blue and piercing. As usual, he looked away as Rhett spoke. "No, you had the right idea."

Vernon glanced back to the smaller man for a moment, and then looked around again, his gaze lingering on the chandelier. "A prisoner? Here?" He gave another half-chuckle. "What, is there a dungeon in the basement?" he joked.

Rhett looked at him like he had sprouted an extra head and aimed a finger down the hallway opposite the elevator. "No, he lives in the second door on the right." He furrowed his brow as though suddenly questioning Vernon's intelligence. "And even if there was a dungeon, why the hell would we have come upwards in an elevator first?"

Vernon ignored the jab and peered in the indicated direction. On either side of one of the doors on the right sat folding chairs bearing an unfriendly looking man and woman in black, with enough of a bulge in each shirt to be holding what Vernon assumed was far more powerful than a simple pistol. He smirked, feeling a clench in his gut that always accompanied the presence of high-powered weapons, and turned to have a rifle with a flashlight taped to the thin barrel shoved into his hands. He stared at the gun for a long moment as though attempting to decipher what it was before looked back at his partner.

Rhett didn't like questions and was plenty strong enough to discourage them, as Vernon- to his chagrin- had discovered more than once. He was small, lithe, deceptively strong, and had the eyes of a madman whenever violence was imminent. But the situation was just so bizarre, Vernon's usual caution when dealing with the man wasn't what it normally was.

"Um... Rhett? We going hunting?"

Rhett grumbled something incoherent to himself. "It's a tranq-gun, dumbass."

"I know what it is. I'm wondering why I need it in a place like this," said Veron quietly, almost under his breath.

Rhett didn't think his curiosity was worth clarification and after a moment of silence, he rolled his eyes and gave an agitated sigh, plunging his hand back into the duffel with more force than necessary. "We wouldn't have held onto the Listener for this long if he didn't provide us with something, so it doesn't make much sense to physically hurt him." From the bag, he withdrew a thin metal case and when he popped it open, Vernon couldn't help the uneasiness that washed over him at the sight of four syringes, each one loaded with different quantities of a pale yellowish liquid. His fingers twiddled a little as he moved between two of them as though trying to decide which to pick- one which held the least amount of the serum and the second which held nearly twice as much as the first. The other two in the case seemed to follow the same pattern; each with nearly twice the dose of the previous. With a sigh like he was making a hard decision, he finally removed the one that held the least amount of the substance, closed the case, and tossed it back into the bag, flicking his chosen syringe with his free hand. "Alright," he said, slipping the syringe behind his ear like a pencil. "Ground-rules." He pointed at the gun held laxly in Vernon's arms. "If I tell you to shoot him... shoot him, understand?" The black man glanced down at the gun and gave a hesitant nod. "Second, I do the talking." Another nod. "Lastly... try not to look him in the eyes. Freaks some people out." This was said with a strange smile that had absolutely no humor in it. Was that... contempt?

Rhett brushed past him and Vernon followed. Something occurred to him and he glanced quickly to the rifle and then up at his partner's back. "What's the flashlight for?"

He could tell Rhett's annoyance was rising. "For if the lights go out," he growled.

Under his breath he muttered, "Is that... likely to happen?"

Rhett shrugged, but didn't turn to him as he spoke, "Does from time to time. Now shut up." His response seemed loaded and Vernon assumed there was more to it, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

They were only passing the second door on their right when the guarded door opened and a tall thin man swept past the sentries, clutching a thick folder to his chest. He was older, most likely in his mid- fifties with a wreath of thin gray hair around the back of his head, and a York University lanyard suspending a thick ring of keys around his neck. His eyes seemed naturally kind, but hardened when they settled on Rhett. "Oh look, it's Dr. Mom!" cried Rhett with a kind of demented enthusiasm that made Vernon's stomach twist. In that one exclamation, Vernon instantly knew that Rhett was reveling in the hatred that this doctor had for him. "Off to file another complaint, are we, Mommy?"

The doctor clutched his folder closer to his chest. "He'll listen to me this time, Rhett," he growled, his eyes flicking for an instant at the syringe behind Rhett's ear. "It hasn't even been two weeks. At this rate, he'll end up like..."

Vernon took a full step backward as the doctor's sentence trailed off. More so than anyone he had ever met, Rhett's eyes were adept at curtaining themselves with madness- a strange sort of crazed rage, the source of which Vernon could only guess. Never had he seen that madness more clearly than in the glare he sent at the doctor. To his credit, the so-called Dr. Mom looked braced and ready for whatever the smaller man could throw at him, and did not back down from his stare. But the younger man said no more. There was only a tense silence that stretched between them for a long moment, after which, the doctor glanced at Vernon, gathered himself up and hurried past them.

Vernon had resolved to ask no more questions lest Rhett's mad glare be turned on him, but to his surprise, the thin man offered the information with a gesture toward the retreating form of the doctor. "The good Dr. Mom, as we like to call him," he said with a sneer. The madness had gone from his eyes to be replaced with their normal strange mix of pleasantness and hatred. "He's kind of the authority on the Listener. He's basically just a fussbudget that complains when he thinks we're working him too hard."

Once again, Vernon kept his mouth closed as Rhett lead him up to the guards. The man was thin, but muscled, deceptively powerful the way Rhett was. The woman beside him had a cruel-looking twist to her lip that gave her a permanent scowl, and her icy green eyes did nothing to dispel such an image. Rhett and Vernon were quickly searched and then admitted. Vernon heard the door's lock click behind them.

They were in a living room larger than Vernon would've guessed an apartment could possess. The black couches were large and overstuffed, sitting opposite quite a large TV mounted to the wall. Below it was a TV stand with a flawless sheet of glass at its top, holding what appeared to be a gaming system, a few extra controllers, and a little blinking black wifi hotspot that sat in some kind of thick protective case. A half-wall with a counter set atop it separated the sitting room from a picture-perfect kitchen. The appliances that Vernon could see were gleaming, spotless, and seemed to be state-of-the-art. It appeared that a good portion of the apartment's cost had gone into the kitchen alone. To the left sat the door to what Vernon guessed was a closet and beyond that was a darkened hallway with four doors branching off of it.

It was chilly, and Rhett flipped on one of the lights. Vernon could easily have assumed no one was home. It seemed a cozy enough place- plush comfortable furniture and the remnants of some delicious meal wafting though the air. But as the black man's eyes continued to wander the rooms, there were a few things that denoted this as more than a nice place to live. There was a doorknob on the door behind him, but no lock accessible from within the apartment. There was a square patch of chipped paint on the wall in the kitchen with a small hole in the center, where hung a few frayed chords as though someone had torn out a land line phone. Upon closer inspection, Vernon recognized the little black box he had assumed was a hotspot to be some sort of signal-jammer.

"Wow... this is nicer than my place," mused Vernon, even as his brain recognized it as the prison that it was.

"Everywhere is nicer than your place," muttered Rhett. Then, all of the irritation and tension that had been building in the lithe man outside the apartment seemed to suddenly disperse. That same contemptuous smile bent his mouth and suddenly he cried, "Toby! Here boy!" He whistled a few times, looking toward the floor and peering around corners as though he expected some little yappy canine to come barreling out of a doorway. Rhett suddenly turned to his larger partner and said in an overly loud voice, "He's so shy around new people!" Vernon only stared at him. Without waiting for a reply, Rhett turned back to face the living room and patted his knees, his voice hiking up in pitch as he called again, "Come on, Toby! 'Cmon boy!"

He made an elaborate shrug with his shoulders, as though performing on a stage rather than just for his companion. He began walking toward the hallway, casting his eyes this way and that, still searching for some erstwhile pet, but his steps seemed somewhat purposeful, like he already knew the location of that which he sought. Vernon once again swallowed his questions. The madness now in Rhett's eyes was that of enjoyment, as though he were playing some demented game and was legitimately having fun at it. The scarred man knew much better than to interrupt.

Rhett stopped short of the hallway and grabbed the handle of the door to the closet, fixing Vernon with an exaggerated, and very artificial, exasperation. His voice was once again far louder than necessary when he spoke. "I bet I know where he is," he announced. "It's his favorite spot!"

He flung open the door and slapped his hand to the inside wall with a cry of, "There he is!"

A single bulb dangling from a beaded chain flickered on. There were shelves suspended on little supports near the ceiling and they held traditional cleaning supplies- spray bottles, folded rags, a few pairs of rubber gloves. A broom and a mop were leaned against the wall on the left and a bucket sat next to them. But the center of the closet was kept clear for the man sitting on the cold tile floor. He squinted when the light came on, but said nothing for the thick band of tape across his mouth. His wrists were suspended at shoulder-height by bizarrely out-of-place metal manacles. Chains were attached to the cuffs at one end and to the wall at the other.

He was dressed plainly, in a blue t-shirt and old-looking jeans. His feet bore only thin socks and overall he looked fairly cold, his elbows bending as much as the chains would allow toward his middle. He was lithe like Rhett, though with perhaps a little more thickness to his muscle, as opposed to his partner's wiry frame. His outstretched arms were well-muscled like his torso in such a way that it gave off the impression of a man either whose career it was to be in shape, or spent little time outside of a gym. His hair was pitch black against the pale skin of his face and buzzed short. He looked strangely out of place. At the word 'prisoner', Vernon's mind conjured images of dirt-encrusted flesh, evidence of physical violence, and broken eyes. This man looked... well cared-for. It was as though the resident of this comfortable lifestyle had just decided to sit down and allow himself to be chained to a wall. For a brief moment, Vernon wondered if this was some bizarre setup.

But he barely had time to register the thought. Before he could recall that the ground-rules advised against it, Vernon found his eyes locked with the bound man's. He almost took a physical step back. Very similar to Rhett's, his eyes were brilliant and piercing blue, but the depth in them was of a different sort than those of his partner's. While Rhett's eyes shone with barely-contained madness, this man's eyes held a surreal insight, as though he could look straight through him. But with that strange piercing aspect, they also bore an invisible weight of sadness and fatigue. The house around him was high-end and comfortable, but Vernon needed only to look into this man's eyes to know that he was indeed a prisoner here.

Rhett took a single step to crouch in front of the man and ruffled his short hair. "Toby, this is Vernon!" he cried in that same high-pitched voice, though it now sounded as though he were talking to someone he perceived as slow. "We got a big job coming up next month, and I wanted you two to get acquainted beforehand," he said, his hand giving Toby's head a sideways shove and his voice dropping suddenly into a more conversational pitch.

Toby looked up at Vernon and the black man fixed his eyes on the wall behind him. Rhett had been right. The young man's gaze was as difficult to meet as Rhett's, even moreso with the weight of imprisonment.

"We also brought you some music!" cried Rhett with a cruel twist to his lips and a tap on the syringe behind his ear. Toby's face suddenly contorted with something akin to terror and he shrank back against the wall. Vernon's entire body tensed, but he held himself stiff. "But first," continued Rhett, his tone a sickly sweet. "I gotta ask you a question, Toby." He plopped onto the floor to sit next to the bound man. He leaned over, pressing one of his cheeks against Toby's and both of them stared up at Vernon. "Is he a cop?" he breathed into Toby's ear.

Vernon's mind went blank. He stared at the two as though attempting to decipher if there could be a double meaning to the question, but Rhett simply looked between the two of them, a demented smile on his face. Toby's stare was intense as he locked his eyes on Vernon's face, like he was trying to read the answer on his very features. He swallowed hard and Vernon found himself copying him. After a few moments of silence, Rhett tapped the prisoner's opposite cheek in impatience. "Hey. You done rooting around in there? Answer the question, Toby."

Toby startled at the touch, and glanced quickly to Rhett, then looked back to Vernon. Something in his eyes made Vernon's heart drop into his stomach. At last, Toby shook his head slowly back and forth, never breaking gaze with Vernon. There was a knowing look there that the larger man couldn't quite decipher.

"No?" cried Rhett with that same perverse enthusiasm. "That's fantastic!" He pressed his cheek against Toby's once more, wrapping an arm around his neck in a strange hug and then sat back and pulled the syringe from behind his ear. "Got some Noise here for you."

Once again Toby shrank away from the man, but with his arms already outstretched, this did little but wiggle him against the wall. Rhett aimed the syringe at the man's neck, but at Toby's squirming he withdrew it and gave him a warning glance as one might give a child who was on the thin ice of punishment. "Now, now, Toby. Behave or I'll up the dose."

Vernon's stomach gave a twist as he recalled the remaining three syringes, each one with at least twice the amount of liquid than the one Rhett was holding. Toby obediently stilled and Rhett pushed the needle into his neck, slamming the plunger down and drawing a muffled cry from behind the strap of tape. Rhett stuffed the syringe into his bag and shot Vernon a look of barely-contained glee, holding up a finger as though to signal the beginning of a spectacle. The larger man's eyes moved back to the captive as sweat broke out on his face and his head rolled down until his chin rested on his heaving chest. His breath was forced in and out of his nose in harsh hisses and every few breaths was accompanied by a cry trapped in the back of his throat.

The single bulb illuminating the closet flickered suddenly and Vernon took a small step backward. He tossed a glance over his shoulder to find that the rest of the lights in the apartment were doing the same. A few flickered like they would go out and others burned overly bright. He cast a quick glance around him, but was drawn back to the closet by Rhett's sudden movement. He hopped up onto his haunches and grabbed the prisoner's ears, forcing his head up to face him. Toby's eyes fluttered and rolled up into his head. Rhett pressed his forehead against Toby's and the sick smile on his mouth widened. "Toby..." he cooed.

The prisoner's eyes suddenly focused and locked with Rhett's. Tears traced shimmering tracks down the bound man's cheeks and the light above them burned brilliantly until Vernon had to squint. His grip on the gun he held tightened, but he kept his finger off the trigger. There was a dull humming that seemed to echo from the walls and the lights in the main rooms became strobe-like as they flashed and dimmed.

"Rhett...?" he began, hefting the gun a little higher in his arms.

"Shut up, Vernon," Rhett hissed, his hands tightening their grip on Toby's face.

With a dull 'pop' that seemed to come from the walls themselves, all went silent and dark. The light that hung above them flickered out along with those from the main room. With a fumbling hand, Vernon flipped the switch of the flashlight on the barrel of his gun, the beam illuminating Rhett and the prisoner. Rhett's breathing was heavy, and the smile on his face was loaded with satisfaction. Toby's head had rolled forward again, resting on his chest. The muscles in his neck gave occasional twitches, shaking his head back and forth in a motion that looked almost involuntary and sent a shiver down Vernon's spine. Rhett eyed the chained man like he was freshly-killed prey. He flashed a thumbs-up at his partner. "Alright," he sighed. "We're good."

Vernon took a few steps backward as Rhett swept past him and slammed the closet door. He looked around the pitch black room, expecting the lights to flash back to life, but they didn't. He heard Rhett moving around him and suddenly there was knocking to his right. The sound of the lock clanking open drew Vernon's attention and a shaft of light shot across the floor as the front door opened.

"Threw a temper tantrum again," said Rhett and the guard visible through the crack nodded. After a few moments the light came to life and Vernon found his partner leaning against the front door. A toothy grin stretched his mouth, and was in stark contrast to the shimmer of fresh tears on his face. He sniffled, and turned his smile on Vernon. He brushed the water from his face and heaved a cleansing sigh like he was putting the entire matter to rest right then. "So! You're all set for the Resor job next month. Toby will be helping out there as well, so we'll contact you when we've got the intel for you to read over."

Vernon nodded, but his mind was long gone. The oddness of the night's events were now punctuated by a strange break in Rhett's usual madness. Tears would normally indicate any number of emotions, but what had been in his eyes was far from any of them. There was a wild satisfaction buried somewhere in those blues; a raw and primal delight forged by success gained through some sacrifice of his own.

The blindfold tightened across his brow and he was shoved once again into the SUV. Nearly two hours of driving had gotten them to Toby's prison, and he feared the return trip would seem far longer with little to occupy his mind but the thought of the strange events of the night and Rhett's maddening, tear-stained stare.

* * *

Let me know what you think! Hopefully there won't be as big of a gap between this update and the last one. Hope you all enjoyed and I'll see you all soon!


	3. Where Is Everyone?

Still long times between updates. I have been struggling with this story far more than any I can remember. XD I dunno what it is about this one. But I think going forward it should go faster because a few key things have been decided. There is still one aspect I still need fleshed out more, but once that is done, the blueprint for this story will be completely finished.

I think one of the challenges is that this story just has a lot of information to dump on you, and I am working to keep it from becoming one long massive conversation so it doesn't get boring. XD Hopefully you guys still find it interesting.

Here is the first bit where I start to tie some ends together. Hope you enjoy!

**Review Responses**

A Muffin: Sorry. Totally kept you waiting for too long. XD Glad it was outside your expectations. Lol I prefer to do that.

nacimynom: I like Vernon. XD He's actually based on a Teen Wolf Character.

D Squirrel: Yay! Everything is super creepy, and I'm glad Rhett came across like that. I can write what I think is super creepy, but it always helps to know that other people find him unsettling, too. XD At least a few of those questions you have may be answered here. Or at least addressed.

roseinthewild: Thank you! Here it is!

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

It had been far too long since he had been here. Almost two months. He heaved a sigh and punched the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately.

"Oz," said Tia with a faint smile. There was no bitterness in her face, as he feared he would have seen. She looked tired. There were bags under her eyes and her auburn hair was askew.

"Sorry I haven't..." he began awkwardly, waving a hand and feeling his gaze pulled down to where his fingers were fiddling with his keys. "The last few months I mean. It's just been..." he trailed off again, suddenly unsure of what he wanted to say.

He jumped a little at the sensation of Tia's small hand landing gently on his shoulder. "Oz, it's fine. I know you better than to think you've stopped looking for him." No explanations were needed and he stepped forward to give her a hesitant hug.

She waved him inside and the difference in the house was almost tangible. He had always noticed it, but tonight it seemed especially heavy.

The house was colder without Toby.

The building no longer felt lived in and the kitchen seemed stiff like an unused muscle. Take-out boxes had been left here and there and when Tia opened the fridge to fetch him a beer, he spotted a few more inside, along with little else. The counter that had often been covered with ingredients and exotic smells was now a mess of missing posters, maps, pictures, notebooks, and tiny post-its with phone numbers on them. His eyes lingered on one of the missing posters. Toby's handsome face smiled from within, cut from a picture of he and Oz together. Those they had put up around town were regularly replaced, but it had been a while since he had seen one himself. As his hope had dwindled, he had taken to purposefully aiming his eyes away from those plastered on the pole and boards outside his bar. They had long since moved on to other avenues of search and the posters only seemed to serve as a stab to the heart every time he saw them.

Only the kitchen light had been turned on, leaving the living room behind the other guests a black canvas. Around the island that sat between the kitchen and sitting room was assembled a group of people he hadn't seen since the last of the manual search parties, each one sipping a beer. Dev Clarke was leaning his elbows on the marble surface and raised his beer bottle when he spotted him. On the opposite end of the island was Alvin Klein, his handsome face adorned with thin spectacles and his dark hair slicked back. Between them was a blonde that smiled when he came in. Michelle mimicked Dev's motion and tipped her beer bottle at him.

Oz forced a smile. "Hey everyone," he said in a very lame attempt to sound chipper. Even he could tell he sounded unnatural. Tia pressed a cold beer into his hand. "Thanks." He tossed back a few gulps before giving McClusky a one-armed hug and sitting at the table. Tia rounded the island and took her seat, where another open beer was waiting alongside a thick and well-used notepad and pen.

"So you said you wanted to talk to us, Michelle?" she pushed, her hands fidgeting.

The blonde drew herself up and nodded. "A few days ago, I spoke to a woman from Guns and Gangs. Now, I don't want to get your hopes up," she said, repeating Anna Ballard's words to her only days before, "But she says there is reason to believe that Toby is alive and being held captive."

Dev and Oz sat up straighter, the latter's heavy eyes suddenly looking lighter than McClusky had seen them in months. Klein kept his eyes on his beer. The surprise she had expected to see on the face of the reporter across from her was absent. Tia merely nodded with a small smirk curling her lips. Michelle couldn't help but return the tiny smile. "I see you got the same news?"

Tia nodded and flipped the pen absently between her fingers. "Just yesterday. They didn't really have any information on why they thought it was him. Only that the higher-ups had suspicions, but that was plenty for me."

"What did she say?" asked Oz eagerly, not bothering to hide the hope in the eyes he turned on the sergeant.

Michelle shook her head. "It's an ongoing investigation, so she didn't tell me much. Apparently the captive they were talking about was abducted around the same time as Toby, for what it's worth. I assume there are other reasons they think it's him, but they didn't share." Tia was suddenly scribbling in her notebook. Michelle leaned on the counter, her brow lowered in thought. "But there was one thing that made me almost certain that it really is Toby they're talking about." She looked up and her eyes met Oz's. "They refer to this captive by a code name; the Listener."

There followed a silence more complete than the lack of conversation. There was a nervous exchange of glances around the table and finally it was Klein that spoke up. "To me, it sounds like they know about Toby's... ability," he said, in a way that did not match the surprise on the faces of everyone else at the table.

If Oz noticed the matter-of-fact way Klein spoke, he didn't show it. "Like a bad joke, but yeah."

Michelle gave her former boss a look, but nodded. "I thought the same thing." She plunged a hand into her jacket's pocket and produced her small notepad and pen. "I told Anna that I thought I remembered Toby mentioning that the Listener was a nickname people used to use for him when he was in the foster care system, so I'm hoping that it will steer the official investigation toward his past again. Obviously they went over his past when he first went missing, but hopefully they'll take another look. Even then, we're the only ones that know that the people we really need to look at are those that knew about Toby's ability. So I want us to make a list of everyone that we know of, past and present, that know about Toby and look into them to start."

There was another long pause. Michelle looked down at her notepad and poked a lone name written at the top of the first page. "The only name I have here is Lori Black, Toby's ex-girlfriend we met in Vancouver." At the other end of the table, Tia scribbled madly in her notebook. "Apparently, prior to Tia, she was the only girlfriend Toby ever told, and it didn't end well."

"Where is she now?" asked Tia, glancing up from her scribblings.

Michelle opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Klein as he pulled his glasses from his face and tipped them up to rest on the top of his head. "Moved up to Silver City with a boyfriend. She's on the opposite side of the country so highly unlikely she's involved." Michelle fixed him with a stare of feigned audacity and Klein gave a half-shrug. "Just because I'm not your boss anymore, doesn't mean I gave up on looking for Toby." He took a swig from his beer and gave her a look over the top of the bottle. "I still know everything." On Michelle's other side, Dev chuckled under his breath.

McClusky turned her eyes to Oz as though suddenly addressing him more so than the rest of the group. "She's the only person from Toby's past that I ever had direct contact with, so she's the only name I could look up. You probably know more names than the rest of us."

The focus of the group shifted to Oz, and the Turkish man looked suddenly uncomfortable. "It's not a lot," he said after a moment of chewing his thumbnail.

Michelle shrugged. "Whomever you can remember. Did you ever know other people besides us that knew about Toby?"

Oz stared at a drop of condensation as it meandered down the neck of his beer bottle. He pursed his lips and sighed. "There's always been someone after Toby... ever since he was a little kid and still with his mom." He looked up at Tia, but the concern in the reporter's stare proved too much and he shifted his gaze to the sergeant. "But we never found out who it was. As for people that I knew..." His gaze fell to his beer again and he huffed out a sigh. His mind began picking through names and faces, remembering the camaraderie that seemed to accompany those who were all in the know about Toby's gift. "Well... there was Olivia," he said, the weight in his voice suddenly sounding quite a bit heavier. "And Charlie..." He suddenly sat up straighter and met Michelle's eyes. "Oh! Dr. Ray." Michelle and Tia scribbled the name almost simultaneously. "He was a psychologist that first taught Toby how to control his ability."

Michelle puckered her lips a little in thought, but didn't look up from her writing. "I always kind of wondered about how he learned to stay out of peoples' heads," she mused with a wan smile. Her eyes lifted from her pad to meet Oz's. "You have his number?"

Oz shook his head. "Only his old one and he hasn't answered that one in years... not since he dropped off the face of the earth."

McClusky raised an eyebrow at him. "Sounds like there's a story behind that..." she muttered.

Oz thought for a moment before sighing. "It was... well... the entire thing was weird. It was just... wrong."

Tia's eyes were as attentive as Oz had ever seen them, fingers anxious as they twirled her pen with practiced ease. "How so?"

"It..." Oz sighed and almost appeared to be winding his mind back to the beginning before he spoke. "Last time we saw Ray was a little after Frank's hearing. Oh! Frank's someone else that knew about Toby."

"One person at a time," urged Michelle, though both her and Tia's pens scribbled the man's name down. "Stick with Ray. You saw him after this hearing."

"Yeah," Oz nodded. "Everything seemed normal... fine... Toby asked questions and Ray mentored, like usual. But then, a few weeks later, Toby called him and his phone had been disconnected. We drove out to his apartment, and everything in it was gone. He taught at Toronto U, so we went there to see if anyone knew what was going on, and they said that he had packed up his things and started his own practice in the states. No one there seemed... alarmed. Toby even read most of the people we talked to, but the most we found out was that apparently starting a practice in Florida was a dream of his- one that he had talked about for years. But he had commitments here and no one actually thought he would ever do it. They were surprised at how suddenly he did it, but mostly just happy that Ray got to 'live his dream'." He paused, his brow furrowing at the thought. "But it made no sense. Toby was like a son to Ray and he understood Toby's gift like no one else. He wouldn't have just left... certainly not without telling him anything."

"Did you ever talk to the cops about it?" asked Dev, sitting up straighter in his seat.

Oz gave a heavy shrug of his shoulders. "Sure. We had suspicions that something was wrong, but by all accounts, Ray just picked up and decided to leave. No one was going to try and cross borders looking for a doctor who hadn't done anything wrong. Not only that... but Toby wasn't on the best terms with the cops after Charlie's death. I have a feeling that even if something had been clearly fishy about it, Becker wouldn't have done anything just to spite him. Toby caught him thinking about wringing his neck."

Tia didn't look up from her notes as she spoke, and her voice had gone uncomfortably professional, as though this were an interview like any of her others. "Had any of the Toronto U people you spoke to heard from him since the move?"

"No," said Oz with a shake of his head. "But no one thought it was odd. He was starting up a business and moving house at the same time. No one expected to hear anything from him for a while." He took another swig of his beer, his eyes fixed over the edge of the bottle as though his mind had wandered into the thought.

"What about as time passed?" chimed Michelle. "Did anyone get suspicious as more time passed and no one heard from him?"

Oz shifted in his chair and leaned his elbows on the counter. "Not really. We spoke to everyone again a few months later, but no one had made contact with him. They thought it was a little odd that he hadn't contacted Toby, but when someone moves to a new country- unless you're really close to them- you don't really expect to hear from them, and no one at the university knew him like that. They just told us to go to the police if we thought it was suspicious."

Klein rocked forward on his elbows a little and interlaced his fingers, staring down at his hands before raising his eyes to meet Oz's. "I've got some calls I can make. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll see what I can drag up."

"Did Toby ever consider hiring a private investigator?" asked Tia suddenly, finally looking at Oz again.

"Yeah, he did hire one. The guy came up empty. There's no psychology practice in Florida run by or employing our Ray." Oz gave a wry smirk and scoffed. "Unfortunately there wasn't enough time or money to have the guy search the entire United States for the guy."

Michelle chewed her lip and sighed as she lifted her eyes away from the scribbles in her notepad. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see what Klein can work up. Now, moving on to this Frank," she said, poking the name with her pen.

"Yeah," said Oz, shifting in his chair again. "Frank Cardea."

As Oz spelled the name and the reporter and sergeant wrote them out, Michelle's brow furrowed. "Why does that name sound familiar?" she asked afterwards.

Oz seemed taken aback and he shrugged. "Um... I dunno."

"I do." Dev's eyes lit up and he sat straight on his stool. "He was in Charlie Marks's file."

"He was present when she was shot, and he shot and killed the guy who did it," recited Klein like he had the report open in front of him. He ignored the raised eyebrow he got from Dev.

"Yeah, that's him," said Oz, pointing at the older man.

Michelle scribbled down the new information and kept her eyes on her writing when she spoke. "And how did Frank get mixed up in all this?"

Oz waved a hand. "Oh he was in this long before any of us were. He knew Toby when he was a kid, back when he was with his mom." He saw Tia sit up straighter and continued. "He helped the two of them escape from... whoever was chasing them... and then dropped off the face of the earth until he showed up four years ago saying Toby's mom had sent him."

Tia's brow pinched suddenly. "Wait... if that's true, why doesn't Toby know where his mom is now?"

Oz shook his head. "Because Frank has Alzheimer's and after the accident that brought him to us, he lost his memory. They were working on piecing it back together and retracing his steps when the shooting happened."

"And where is Frank now?" asked Michelle.

"No idea," said Oz.

Michelle stared at him and a thick silence followed. Oz felt suddenly sheepish. "Of the list of people from Toby's past that know about his ability... do you know where any of them are?"

Oz's eyes rolled upward as he wracked his brain for a moment, then smiled and pointed at her. "Yes. I know where two of them are." There was another silence as they all stared expectantly at him. "Iris is in an insane asylum and that Clooney guy is dead."

Tia gave a cleansing wave with her hand. "No more names yet. Stick with Frank. What happened to him?"

"Well, Toby was scheduled to pick him up from the detention center when he was released after his hearing. Problem is, when he got there, they said he changed his ride arrangements last minute and he left with someone else."

Tia nodded to her notebook as she wrote. "And he never figured out where he went?"

Oz shook his head. "Nope. Frank told the guards that they were old friends, but we never heard from him again. Since we didn't know him personally prior to all this, we didn't even have anyone to ask about him."

"Did Toby hire someone to look for Frank as well?" asked Michelle.

"Nah," said Oz, grabbing his beer again and tossing back a mouthful. "At the time, he didn't have the money. He started putting money aside, but by the time he had enough, Ray disappeared, so he used it to look for him instead. We wound up looking for Frank the old fashioned way and came up nowhere."

"What did Toby think about all this?" asked Michelle, gesturing with her pen-laden hand. "Ray and Frank disappearing so closely together..."

"He went on high alert," said Oz, his eyes going distant. "I think the year that followed is the reason he got overtaxed and had to stop working with you guys that first year. In his mind, everything pointed to the group that chased him and his mom coming after him again. He was reading everyone that came within three feet, but nothing ever happened. I don't think his brain had fully recovered from all that by the time he started working with you."

Michelle sighed as she eyed the notes on her pad as though they had disappointed her. "Alright. I'll see what I can find on this Frank." She looked back to the Turkish man. "What about these other two people?"

"Well there was the Clooney guy... Uh... Victor. Victor Clooney," said Oz after a few snaps of his fingers to jog his memory. "The guy Frank shot."

Dev's attentiveness shot up again. "Wait, the guy that killed Detective Marks knew about Toby?"

"Yeah. The only reason he was around in the first place was to see Toby. Or... take Toby. I'm not entirely sure what he wanted. He claimed he was sent by Toby's mom, but Toby never trusted the guy. Things escalated when Toby asked too many questions and..." he trailed off and made a gesture with his hand as though it completed his sentence. Michelle nodded her understanding and Oz continued. "He showed up at Toby's loft later that night and tried to abduct him at gunpoint. That's when Frank shot him."

Michelle abruptly turned to look at Klein. "What do we know about Victor Clooney?"

Klein shrugged. "Off the top of my head? Um... I remember he was a career criminal. If I recall correctly, he was connected to one of the Roots Gang's larger chapters. I'll pull his file and take a look at it."

Michelle nodded. "Alright. And this Iris person."

"Iris Frost. She was a faith healer that came through Toronto about five years ago. Toby suspected her of being a telepath. She wound up in a mental institution, so I highly doubt she could be involved."

Tia finished off her notes and sighed. "Four names? That's all we've got?"

Oz shrugged heavily. "Toby's always kept these things pretty close to the vest."

Michelle tilted her head in agreement but suddenly stopped with a chuckle. "Klein?" she began, eyeing the man who had suddenly raised both his hands into the air beside his head. "Did you have uh... something to share with the class?"

Klein's mouth twitched into a smirk. "No... but it would seem that we have a guest."

Michelle's eyes shot to just over the man's shoulder to spot a dark-skinned man hiding in the black canvas of the sitting room. He had fierce eyes, a square jaw, and an old faded scar mildly distorting the skin down the right side of his face. At the angle of his shoulders and Klein's reaction, he could be doing little else but holding a gun to the man's back. She stiffened and Tia suddenly stood from her stool, nearly knocking it to the floor. "Hands up everyone," barked the black man. One by one, the group obeyed. His dark eyes snapped to Tia and the reporter met his eyes with a ferocity of her own. "Close the blinds," he ordered. "Now."

Tia hesitated. Klein twitched as the barrel of the gun was dug further into his spine. Slowly she stood and began meandering around the kitchen, pulling the blinds closed and then moving into the living room to do the same.

"You don't want to do this," assured Michelle. "Three of us are cops."

"Including me," said Klein, his voice disproportionately calm and smooth.

The man at his back ignored him, watching Tia as she moved to the sitting room and closed the sliding glass door and drew the drapes. As she returned to her seat, Klein felt the pressure at his back release.

"I know who you are," said the intruder, appearing between Klein and Dev and slapping a badge onto the counter. "Vahn Boyd. I'm with the RCMP."

Michelle scowled at the badge while Dev raised an eyebrow at it, and Klein eyed it like it was a particularly interesting twist in a movie he was watching.

"You're a cop?" asked Dev.

"Not technically, but sure, call me a cop. I'm undercover. I just had to keep up appearances in case someone is watching," he said, craning his neck at the kitchen as he stuffed the gun into the back of his pants.

"Someone's watching the house?" demanded Tia, eyeing the covered windows like they had betrayed her.

"Dunno, but I've been working this case for over two years now. I've learned that being paranoid keeps you alive," said Vahn with a shrug.

Dev waved his hand. "Wait, you're undercover and you just told us your name? Aren't you not supposed to tell us one of those?"

Klein's smirk was wry. "Never assume an CSIS operative has given you their real name."

"CSIS?" repeated Vahn. "Who says I'm CSIS?"

"I do," muttered Klein. "I've been around the block a few times. I'm not stupid." Vahn said nothing but smiled wanly at the man.

"If you're so paranoid, why even come here? Why take the risk?" asked Michelle with a bite in her voice.

Vahn turned and snatched a frame off the table behind him, holding up a picture of an intertwined Toby and Tia, sitting on a picnic blanket and smiling up at the camera. "I've been to see your boy."

Tia nearly flew out of her seat. "You've seen Toby? Where is he? Is he alright?"

Vahn raised an eyebrow at her and tossed the picture onto the counter. "Yes, can't say, and physically, he's fine. Dunno about his head."

Oz's eyes shot to the newcomer. "His head? What's wrong with his head?"

Vahn made a sweeping gesture with his hand, turning fully to Oz. "I don't know. Look, I don't know anything about his situation, and I don't have the time or liberty to speculate on what is or isn't wrong with him at the moment."

Klein seemed suddenly deep in thought, eyeing Vahn up and down as Michelle spoke, effctively cutting off whatever other questions that Oz and Tia were about to launch. "Then why are you here?"

"Because... I think your Toby just saved my op." The dark man produced a folded piece of paper and tossed it onto the picture. "I came here to give you this. Anna said she talked to you about the situation, so I figured that it would be safe to give you this much, and that by coming here personally, you'd know to take it seriously."

"Anna?" repeated Michelle, pausing for a moment to think. "Anna Ballard?" At Vahn's nod, her eyes lit up with discovery. "She's your handler," she said more than asked.

Tia looked like a hound yearning to jump onto a scent, fighting to keep from attacking the paper. "What are you talking about? What about Toby?"

Vahn sighed, resting his hands on his hips and shifting on his feet. "It's an open case, so I can't go into it. Just... read," he commanded, pointing at the paper and with the same hand swiping his badge off the table.

"Anna doesn't know you're here, does she?" mused Klein, almost as though he weren't talking to the intruder. Vahn pursed his lips at the older man and said nothing. He turned and the group watched as he slipped out the back door and vanished.

The paper was closest to Michelle, but Tia was across the counter and pulling it open before the blonde had the time to look back at it. She stared at it, as though attempting to pry the information out of it.

"What does it say?" demanded Oz after a tense moment.

_Middle-aged man wearing a 2013 York University lanyard is involved. Referred to as Dr. Mom. Medical degree?_

Tia flipped it over and stared at the blank back of the sheet for a moment, and then looked up at the blonde. "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"He's giving us a clue," said Dev, grabbing the page as Michelle passed it toward Oz, who was holding his hand out expectantly. Oz scoffed and the hacker quickly handed it over.

"Why would he do that?" asked Tia, running back over to her notepad and grabbing her pen to begin scribbling once more.

Klein sighed. "Because, if what he said is true, and Toby is in good health, CSIS isn't going to risk a two-year operation and risk the lives of an asset and an operative." He met Tia's worry-filled eyes as the reporter stopped writing and looked up. "They aren't going to try and save him."

* * *

Once again, hopefully won't take me too long to update. Let me know what you think! :D

Edit: OMG! The last few pieces have fallen into place. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up too high, but I think I might feel a writing frenzy coming on!


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